The End
by Helden
Summary: Erik contemplates death. Rated T to be safe. ONESHOT


Disclaimer: I do not own "The Phantom of the Opera."

* * *

Erik's Point of View:

"Death."

The word was bittersweet as it rolled off of my tongue.

It had been nearly a month since my beautiful Christine had left me. A month of insufferable pain and torment.

My clothes were all too large. I suppose it is from the abhorrent amount of food that I haven't eaten.

I had stopped playing my music and only thought about Christine.

"Why won't you leave me alone?"

She was always there and wouldn't leave me. I desperately wanted to get on with my life.

But the worst thing out of all of this was…the voices had returned. They would mock me and it was unbearable.

'_You knew you weren't good enough.'_

"Stop it."

'_Why did you even try, an exquisite creature such as she wouldn't even turn to look at you if you didn't have you precious voice.'_

"Go away!"

They stopped, for now. I knew they would be back, soon…too soon.

"Oh Christine, why?"

I started to weep. It seemed as if it were the hundredth time I had over this last month.

Why wouldn't the tears stop?

'_Why not kill yourself?'_

They were back

"Can't you just leave me be?"

I thought about death and it seemed acceptable.

Why don't I just kill myself?

Certainly it is better then where I am now.

My lasso was hanging in the corner of the room on a hook. It started to mock me, taunt me in a way that only I could hear.

'_End it all now. Why should you go on? Nobody needs you anymore. You are just a burden on everyone's lives.'_

It was right.

'_Nobody even cares about you anymore.'_

"Madame does."

'_Do you think that she really cares about you?'_

"She brings me food when she visits every week, I would say that is caring."

'_That my friend is pity.'_

Again, it was right. She did pity me. I couldn't bear pity anymore.

Now I contemplated death.

This pain was just so overwhelming. No being should have to endure what I am suffering.

I couldn't bear the pain anymore. It had to end

Too many years I have suffered.

I desperately want relief.

I stood up and grabbed the lasso from its place.

I went over to the portcullis and used my last bit of strength to climb up and tie the lasso.

I slipped my neck into the noose and before I ended my life I thought about my wretched existence.

I dropped myself and the last thing I heard was the horrendous crack of my neck breaking.

That was it.

It had all ended.

* * *

Madame Giry's Point of View:

I to go visit Erik today. I grabbed a basket and filled it with food even though I knew he wouldn't eat it, I could still have hope.

I left my small flat and made my way to the Rue Scribe.

I took out my key; put it in the lock and the door opened.

I made my way down the stairs and through the passageway to his lair.

I untied the boat, got in, and started rowing.

At about halfway I noticed a body hanging from the portcullis.

"Oh dear God."

I rowed faster and reached the portcullis in a matter of seconds.

I knew he was dead by the fact that his body was even more pale then usual and his neck was hanging at a sickening angle.

I climbed up the portcullis and untied the noose. His body went into the shallow, murky water with a splash.

My body was wracked with sobs.

Somehow I knew that he would kill himself. Christine was his life, love, and the center of his music.

Without his music, there was no point in life for him.

I climbed into the boat and rowed back to the opposite shore. I gradually made it up the stairs and out of the Rue Scribe.

Once I made it back to my flat I collapsed on the floor and began to cry weep.

I had lost a friend.

The Phantom of the Opera is dead.

And so is part of my heart.

* * *

It seems that when one person dies, it isn't just they.

Other people die, maybe not physically, but mentally and emotionally.

The maker of the music of the night is dead.

Thus ends the music of the night.

_It's over now the music of the night_

* * *

I am not fond of putting lyrics into stories but it seemed so necessary.

Cheers,

Caroline Butler


End file.
